


Winter's Child

by bulletproofteacup



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, AtLA, Avatar, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Melancholy, Misunderstandings, Pregnancy, Steambabies - Freeform, Steambaby, Unplanned Pregnancy, Zutara, aang never appears, alternate au, basically katara and zuko are idiots, captain katara
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23740393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletproofteacup/pseuds/bulletproofteacup
Summary: In a world where the Avatar was never discovered, Prince Iroh returns home after the death of his only son. He defeats the Usurper Ozai and raises his orphaned niece and nephew as his own. Years later, Captain Katara discovers that the father of her unborn child is not a well-to-do tea merchant after all...
Relationships: Kanna/Pakku (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Ozai/Ursa (Avatar), Sokka/Yue (Avatar)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 318





	1. Melancholy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lewilder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lewilder/gifts).



> Requested by my old friend somuttersthesea. 
> 
> I couldn't find the original post on my blog, so I figured I'd post it here. Hope you all enjoy it!

Moored in the harbor, there’s nothing useful to do. It’s a slow day, a shore day, and most of her crew is on leave. There’s nothing to do. She’s already plotted their next course, arranged for their cargo, and seen to necessary repairs. Suki is out replenishing supplies, leaving Katara to lay about in her cabin. 

It’s raining outside; just a gentle sprinkle that taps again her windows. The boat creaks, cradling her in sturdy wooden arms. She leaves her bed, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. Her breath escapes in whisps of steam; when she was a child, she would huff and puff and pretend to be a fire-breathing dragon. Her mother would laugh and her father would declare himself an even greater dragon and chase her. Katara peers out the stern windows, where the sky is gray and cloudy. 

Winter is coming, she realizes. 

Maybe a year ago, she would have picked up and sailed to warmer waters. But today, she rubs her belly and knows she cannot be seen in Fire Nation waters. It’s too awkward and the warmth reminds her too much of the man she left behind. 

She never wants to see him again, but she will. 

She’ll see his face every single day for the rest of her life, after the baby is born.

*** 

Supper is brought promptly at noon, when the storm has picked up some. Although it is not the first mate’s duty to bring food, Suki does it anyway. She brings food for two; an excuse to check up on her. “I’m fine,” Katara tells her, before she has a chance to ask, “Nothing is wrong with me.”

But her friend still has something to say, so grudgingly, Katara tells her to spit it out. Suki sets the stew down, then the fresh fruit. She weighs her words, then sits at the captain’s table. “You didn’t offer and we didn’t ask,” she says finally, “But that baby is going to be here in a few months and we’re beginning to wonder what this is going to mean for you. For the baby. For the crew.”

Katara scowls. She hasn’t been able to hide the baby under her clothes for a long time now, but the silence from the crew has let her pretend a little while longer. But even she knows that eventually it must be faced. Secrets she wants to keep forever must come out because at the end of this journey, she’s going to be holding a baby in her arms and there’s nothing she can do to change that. 

But it’s hard to come clean. “I don’t want to talk about it.” she tells Suki. 

Her first mate shrugs a little, then turns to uncover a load of bread from beneath a stack of maps. She rips off a chunk and dips it into her soup. “They’re worried for you.” she offers, with a sidelong glace. 

Its meant to remind Katara that she’s acting like a child and it works all too well. 

At the window, she sighs. 

Her crew is not just crew; they’re family. Many, many years ago, when she was barely fourteen years old and running away from an arranged marriage, the captain of this boat had taken her in. The crew had embraced her and welcomed her. Now, as the captain of their vessel and the leader of their family, Katara owes them an explanation for many things, the baby being the least of them. They deserve to know how her own personal turmoil will affect them. 

However, Katara doesn’t say this. Instead, she takes a seat and begins to eat. Over lunch, they discuss trade numbers and laugh about Ty-Lee’s latest beau (he’s trying to persuade her to give up the ocean, but the only thing Lee loves more than a good jawline is _the most beautiful and pure friendship between life-long female friends_ ). Before they finish, Suki convinces her to take a walk the following day. Katara agrees easily; she needs to stretch her legs and begin purchasing the things a baby will need. After all, they’re departing for Ba Sing Se the day after tomorrow. 

Even a waterbender can get restless spending so many weeks on the ocean blue. 

For Katara, however, these will be her last weeks on this boat for some time. Suki will take over until the baby is born and she’s regained her strength. Oddly enough, she’s looking forward to seeing Ba Sing Se again.

*** 

She decides to remain in her cabin that evening, forgoing dinner and therefore, any company. Instead, she spends a long time staring out the tiny round starboard windows. When this cabin became hers–it’s a stateroom, really–she loved the windows most of all. The ones on the stern end are large and great, but the handful of little starboard and port portholes have always offered little tastes of the world whenever she can’t stomach the glaring, all encompassing view from the stern. But even now, she cannot stomach the world outside her cabin.

It is so hard to hate him at night, when the longing and loneliness twist around her heart. It’s hard to be angry when she misses the warmth of his skin against her, when she wishes that she did not have to face parenthood alone. 

But out there, beyond the storm and rain and screaming wind, her baby’s father lives and breathes without her. Out there, in the world, she cannot be with him, _will not_ be with him. 

Katara tosses and turns until exhaustion takes her from her worries. She dreams of golden eyes and the sound of a man’s laughter. Just before she wakes, she can hear the precious, cooing laughter of a little girl.

*** 

By the following afternoon, the rain has stopped, but the air is still brisk and cool. The dirt roads are muddy, but the smell of fresh earth after rain is almost as lovely as the smell of salty ocean air. It makes Katara feel very much alive. She can’t help smiling and when the sun peaks out from behind a cloud; the baby wriggles and warms her up like a good winter fire.

This is how she knows that her child will bend fire. 

It hurts her heart, in a way, but she doesn’t think about this. Instead, Katara focuses on the moment. The sun on her face, the warmth in her belly, Suki’s arm in her own, and the smell of rain and earth and life. There is happiness in this and that is where she keeps her heart and thoughts.

They visit a market near the port. Suki buys a few trinkets and Katara mills over boots and blankets and baby toys. She pauses over a pink blanket, embroidered with little flamingo-doves. The top part is thick, sure to keep a child warm on a cold winter night, and the bottom is the softest fleece she has ever touched. There are ways to check if the baby will be a girl or boy; for a master waterbender, it’s as easy as breathing. But Katara wants a good surprise for once in her life, so she chooses two blankets. The price is exorbitant, but when she leaves with a blanket in pink and another in blue, she does so with a bit of joy in her heart. She tries not to think about how each color represents the nations she is caught between; the nations her child will be caught between as well. 

It scares her, to think that her baby will be twice royal. It makes her think of her own childhood, of the cold duty and sacrifice impressed upon her by her father. Sacrifice her happiness, marry Yue’s father after her cousins untimely death, have children with a man three times her age. She thinks of Lee–-of Zuko, who lied to her about who he was. She knows why and she understands why, but it frightens her to know that if he ever finds the baby, her precious child will be thrown into the viper-scorpion pit that created Azulon and Ozai and the war that took her mother’s life and her father’s love. 

Suki, having reclaimed Katara’s arm, asks her what's wrong. Katara looks away, smiles, and then complains about the price of the beautiful blankets. The moment passes, but only because her first mate let's it escape. For that, she is grateful, but it is only as they near the ship again that Katara feels the tension in Suki. It is her turn to ask what bothers her friend. 

They’ve known each other for years, long enough to fight together, laugh together, cry together, bleed together, and share a bond closer than blood. She knows when something is bothering her first mate. 

“It’s nothing,” Suki lies poorly, “I’m just thinking of the journey ahead.”

But Katara can see the concern in her companion’s blue eyes, read the hesitation in her brow, feel the tension in her arm as they walk side by side. She looks like she’s going into battle. The waterbender stops where she is, right in the middle of the road. She de-tangles her and face Suki head on. 

“Suki,” she commands, “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

They stare at each other; merchants and sailors and Earth Kingdom soldiers bustle around them. There is a sinking feeling in her heart, a premonition of something to come. The sex of her child is not the only surprise lingering on the horizon. 

Suki starts to speak, then stops. Then she rushes to her friend and takes her hands. “I know you’re set on this,” she says, “And I know we can do it. I know we can all raise your child together–we can be a family and make it work.”

“But what?” Katara prompts. 

“But you’re not meant for this, Tara!” Suki explodes, “You were so happy when you met Zuko–you’re meant to have a big family and a home and a man that truly loves you–you don’t have to throw it away just because he’s not the tea merchant you thought he was!” 

Something dawns on her. 

“What have you done?” she demands, “ _Suki, what did you do?!_ ”

Her friend’s proud brow sags, she looks away. “I’m sorry.” 

Katara takes her shoulders, shakes her like a rag-doll. “ _What did you do, Suki?!_ ”

Her first mate only raises her arm and points. 

In the distance lays their ship. There is a Fire Nation cruiser moored beside it. It hadn’t been there when they’d left. 

Katara whirls on her friend. “Why would you do this to me?!” she cries. 

There are tears blurring her vision; she can’t see the face Suki makes, only hears the reply. “I thought it was the right thing! You aren’t meant to be alone!”

The place where her heart is, the tender scarred organ that she’s protected for the sake of her child, turns from flesh to stone and again to bitter, burning ice. “What I’m meant for,” Katara says, jaw set, eyes turning stony with finality, “is none of your concern.”

Then she turns away and marches toward her ship. 

Katara knows she has a temper. She knows that it has gotten the better of her many times in her life. It’s what led her afoul of pirates when she was a young girl escaping from the North Pole and it's what’s about to lead her afoul of the Fire Lord himself. But there’s no stopping her. She’s angry, she’s upset, and if she doesn’t outright kill her child’s father, she’s going to frighten him senseless first. 

Katara doesn’t walk up the gangplank. She pulls the ocean up with her, stepping delicately into it’s grasp and letting it soak through her clothes. It’s cold and salty, but it gives her strength and reminds her that there is ice in her veins, searing cold in her breath, and Southern strength in her heart. 

When she steps onto the deck, the ocean crashes onto the wood and metal and men and women. She doesn’t see him at first; he’s at the other side of the vessel, standing near the railway. She pulls the seawater out of her clothes with a sharp flick and brushes the salt off her coat, staring him down. 

“Fire Lord Zuko,” she spits, as venomous as an eel-snake, “I’d hoped never to see you again.” 

He isn’t dressed the way she remembers; Lee had always worn muted grays and green beneath his apron. This man wears red and gold and the mark of the Fire Lord in his hair. Lee was kind and awkward; this man stares back at her as coldly as she stares at him. Everything about Fire Lord Zuko reminds Katara that Lee was a lie all along and she’d been a fool to fall for it. 

Until his eyes drop to her stomach and his cool expression is replaced with shock. Utter, absolute shock. 

“You’re pregnant!” he sputters. 

And then he does the most un-Fire Lord like thing she can expect; _Zuko faints._


	2. Nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip down memory lane...

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:• 

There are parts of that terrible night that he only remembers as shaky impressions, like charcoal portraits smudged by years and terror. Some things he can never forget; the fragrance of his mother’s floral perfume--the ghostly touch of her shaking pale hands--the acrid smell of burning flesh. 

Zuko is eight and his mother is shaking in awake in the middle of the night. Almost instantly, he knows that something is gravely wrong. His mother is worried--he can see it in the lines around her mouth and the fear in her dark eyes. Azula is there, clinging to Mother’s skirts like a pygmy monkey as Zuko is pulled from his bed. Her eyes are big and yellow and terrified. Her hand is cold and small when he holds it. 

They hurry down dark passageways. Zuko knows they exist--every member of the royal family knows which passages to take in the event of an invasion. But he’s never been so far down any of these tunnels, never walked so far into the darkness without a torch or guard or nursemaid following carefully behind. They walk for what feels like hours, until Zuko’s legs scream with exhaustion and his shoulders droop. 

He remembers that when they finally stop; he can smell the salt in the air and hear the crash of waves against stone. He remembers his mother’s sigh of relief as they round a corner and finally leave the tunnels, emerging under a moonless night sky. In the distance lies a small harbor, where a boat awaits. Men scurry across the wood, loading boxes and trunks with quiet urgency. A man that must be the captain approaches. “My Lady,” he says, “We must hurry--

Azula cocks her head, then looks at their mother. She shakes her head. 

Ursa sags with defeat. 

Zuko doesn’t understand as a child, but as an adult, he knows that this is the moment when their mother realizes that they will not escape. 

There is an explosion. 

Zuko only remembers bits and pieces of what happens and only because Azula tells him later, on a disconcertingly sunny morning a week after the funerals, when he is still laying in a sick bed with half his face bandaged. Even at six, she speaks with cold precision:

Father ordered his men to attack the ship’s crew and kill all of the traitors. Mother’s forces were not prepared and suffered heavy losses almost immediately (Zuko remembers the screams and trying to yank his hands out of his mother’s bruising grip). In the melee, father found them. ( _“Did you think you’d take my children?”_ he’d scoffed, _“That wasn’t our agreement, Ursa.”_ ). Mother had pushed them behind her ( _“I won’t let you have them.”_ she’d said, fierce as a dragon).  


Father tried to kill mother, but Zuko threw himself in front of them and dispersed the flames. The strike was followed through with a devastating blow (Zuko touches his bandaged eye as Azula recounts the tale and remembers the white, hot agony--the way his skin boiled, the way he’d screamed). Father did not stop to assess the damage; he attacked again and killed Mother instantly (Azula never explains that their mother’s last action was to push her only daughter out of the way, breaking her arm, but saving her life. But Uncle tells him, years later.). 

Before Father could eliminate either of them, Uncle Iroh stepped in. Neither of them remember the Agni Kai, but they both must live with the consequences. They never speak about the fact that Azula watched both of their parents die.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:• 

The Southern and Northern Water Tribes are sisters, but they are as different as Tui and La. They do, however, agree on one thing: Dear Mother Earth is as vicious as she is giving. For every life that she feeds with a single turtle-seal, she takes back on a cold winter’s eve. Her wisest children take heed of her moods and respect her above all else.  


This is why fourteen year old Katara doesn’t throw open the door and escape into the blinding whiteness outside. Freedom is at her fingertips, but the only sort of escape Mother Earth offers is the kind that ends in a funeral.  


There is a tradition in the North, an old archaic custom long forgotten by their Southern sisters. Days before her wedding, a bride secludes herself and prepares for her new life by fasting, praying, and finding peace in her heart. They say that a bride is beautified by her modest piety. They don’t say that it’s a convenient way to prevent an errant daughter from running away.  


Katara is a master water bender, but not even the Avatar, long gone that he was, could have survived in such a frozen wasteland. Her only hope for escape lies beyond the city gates, but both the harbor and the ocean are heavily guarded and carefully watched. Instead of fleeing, she stands by the window of the purity hut, staring through the heavy, impractical glass. It is a luxury imported from the Fire Nation--to show wealth and strength through trade--but it only makes it that much harder to keep the stupid hut properly heated. 

Outside, the snow stretches as far as the eye can see. 

Inside, her reflection is clear; blue eyes as vast and as empty as the wasteland beyond.  


Katara retreats to the flames, warming her hands. Her face feels tight, both from the heat and from the tears that continue to spring from her eyes. Her cheeks are chaffed from rubbing them dry again and again. She’d always known that her father would choose a husband for her, but like the rest of the girls in her village, she’d imagined a young man with bright eyes and a quick smile wooing her when she was much older. Not when she was younger than the youngest mother in her own village, not when the groom was Yue’s father.  


A month ago, Yue had died in childbirth. Both mother and son had been lost. Yue’s husband--Katara’s brother-- had disappeared after the funeral. Instead of mourning the tragedy, the treaty had to be satisfied with an heir to both tribes. And so Katara’s father promised her to Yue’s father. She was engaged to a man that she’d always thought of as a doting uncle, to a man who had given her an arctic rabbit as a solstice gift one year and teased her about her missing teeth another year. A man who’d praised her healing ability and assured her that should she desire it one day, she’d find a fine husband among his tribe.  


Katara had never imagined that Arnook would happily agree to wed, bed, and impregnate her.  


They were expected to produce an heir before the year was out and another shortly after.  


The thought makes Katara bite her lip until blood spills into her mouth and tears trickle from her eyes. She fights back sobs and tries to remind herself that there is ice in her views, southern strength in her heart.  


But she is just a lonely, frightened girl huddling before a sputtering fire.  


When her grandfather opens the door to her isolated prison, she is not ice. She is not strong. She is a frightened child who throws herself into the arms of the only man who tried to protect her. Her grandmother's arms come around both of them. Katara closes her eyes and breathes in the scent of family.  


She doesn’t know yet that this will be the last time she will see her grandparents for many years.  


•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:• 

Zuko doesn’t wake until a week after the Agni Kai, long after the ashes of both his parents have been returned to Agni. His sister sits at his bedside, reading a scroll. She is a voracious reader, even at six. The first thing he notices is that Azula is wearing all white. The second is that his hand aches where she clutches it. It must be black and purple beneath her grip, he thinks. Then his head starts to hurt. “‘Zula?” he rasps--his throat feels like sandpaper.  


She sets the book down, but does not release his hand. “Zuko.” she says, face carefully blank.  


Zuko stares at her. Why is she wearing white? “Mother?” he croaks.  


“We’re orphans,” his sister says, “Mother and father are dead.”  


He doesn’t know how to feel. He doesn’t know _what_ he feels. Zuko is numb and all he can do is stare at his sister. Azula’s eyes glitter, but she says nothing. She clutches his hand a little more tightly. “Are we dead?” he asks.  


There is a rustle from the other side of the bed. Azula looks up, face still blank, but Zuko knows his sister. It’s an expression their father used to make when Zuko stumbled through a kata or spilled his cup at the dinner table. _Loathing._  


It is very difficult to turn his head, but he manages it very slowly and there beside his bed, garbed in the robes of a Fire Lord, sits Uncle Iroh. He is older and grayer and thinner and immeasurably grave. He is also wearing the Fire Lord’s five pronged flame. Grandfather’s crown.  


“Children,” Uncle Iroh says, “There has been a great tragedy.”  


He sounds nothing like the happy man who used to carry him on his shoulders--nothing like the man who sent fabulous gifts every year and had always smiled. It has barely been a month since his son died.  


“Grandfather?” Zuko croaks.  


“Murdered.” Azula mutters, just as Iroh says, “Passed in his sleep.”  


Zuko doesn’t see the look his sister shoots, but it is enough to make Uncle Iroh sigh and nod. “He was killed in his sleep, shortly before your parents perished.”  


Azula squeezes his hand tightly again. “Just before you killed father.” she hisses.  


Zuko stares as Uncle nods. “I challenged my brother to an Agni Kai and struck him down.”  


“ _Murderer_.” Azula spits.  


Iroh is clear eyes and unapologetic. “He killed your mother in cold blood and almost succeeded in killing both of you.”  


It’s this part that is hardest to understand. Zuko feels like he’s watching from very away. Azula’s grip is so tight on his hand, but everything just feels numb and fuzzy. “What will happen to us now?” she demands.  


Uncle doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he busies himself with helping Zuko sit up. He puts Azua to work boiling water for tea. She glowers, but obeys. Even at six, her bending control is steady enough to bring water to a steady boil. Uncle Iroh nods in approval, but says little else while he brews a special healing blend of ginseng.  


It isn’t until after he’s forced half a cup of the vile tea down Zuko’s throat--while Azula delicately sips from her cup, of course--that he explains their fate.  


“Before your grandfather died,” Iroh explains, “He made your father--my brother--his heir. Your father was the Fire Lord when he died.”  


His sister seems to understand instantly, but their uncle continues to explain.  


“The chain of succession passes to you, Zuko.”  


“Me?” he croaks, “But--Lu Ten--”  


Uncle looks very old and very sad for a long moment. He sets his cup down. “My son is gone and my brother and father have joined them,” he says, and then adds as if in afterthought, “I am so tired of death and war.”  


Zuko is still trying to wrap his head around the fact that half his family is gone. A dull pain begins to radiate from his eye. Uncle Iroh continues, “I don’t want the throne, but I will hold it until Zuko is ready.”  


Azula sets her cup down with a clatter. “And what about me?” she demands.  


“I will raise both of you as my own,” Uncle Iroh says, “Your mother died protecting you both and I will not let her sacrifice be in vain.”  


•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:• 

The moon has begun to set, drifting down in the sky. Katara has been awake all night, bending the dark ocean beneath her skimmer with exhausted determination. Despite how cold her face is, despite how tired her arms are, despite how the wind bites at her as it rushes by, she ignores the pain. Every yard that passes beneath her skimmer takes her farther and farther away from the North Pole.  


Every inch of distance is crucial now. The Water Tribes won’t let her go easily; in the morning, men and ships and trackers will be sent after her. The lead she creates now buys her precious time, ensuring her freedom for that much longer. Although she is tired and scared, Katara remembers the love and hope and determination given to her by her grandparents. They rescued her from the purity hut and gave her a chance to escape marriage to Arnook. She swallows down her own fear and anger and helplessness; she promises herself that she’ll make them proud.  


Gran-gran had escaped her own arranged marriage many, many decades ago. She’d sacrificed everything she knew for a life that she controlled. Katara will do the same and make a life for herself, even if it means she’ll never see her people again. 

Katara promises herself that she’ll never let her choices be taken away ever again.  


The world seems so big and frightening, but as Katara flies across the night ocean, she lets hope and moonlight and frozen solid resolve guide her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support!


End file.
